


The Queen and I

by hippydeath



Series: Just a Pawn [1]
Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-19
Updated: 2008-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippydeath/pseuds/hippydeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She’s the unifying force here, one of the few women who actually does anything and it’s hard not to stare her sometimes</i> Gawain lusts for what he can't have, Galahad despairs and Arthur remains clueless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen and I

**Author's Note:**

> I can't really justify this. I think I was just playing around with slutty!Gawain, and was, at the studying Arthurian legend, and somehow, this happened.

There’s a routine in the tavern, even now there are only the four of them left, now that Arthur spends more time with his knights than with his wife.

Rumours and theories abound; she’s barren, she’s in the early stages of pregnancy, Arthur has grown tired of her, she’s grown tired of him. But none of them are substantiated, Arthur and Guinevere remain tight lipped, showing strained civility to each other most of the time, just the odd flashes of their former happiness leeching through every now and again.

Galahad knows that Gawain watches her; he’s always had a roving eye and when he’s drunk it only gets worse. A different girl every night; that’s just how it’s always been. Yet he tries to rationalise the way he sees his friend look at his Queen. She’s the unifying force here, one of the few women who actually does anything and it’s hard not to stare her sometimes, but not the way that Gawain does; there’s lust there, and desire that unnerves Galahad because she’s been here over a year now, and he’s only just noticed.

 

He doesn’t say anything; it’s not his place to upset his friend or his king. He doesn’t think that Guinevere sees it, and he doubts that Gawain would ever actually act on it. So he lets it stew around in his head and genuinely looks surprised when, weeks later, Gawain turns to him and says, “I think I’m in love with Guinevere.”

If he’d had anything in his mouth, it would have been on the table once Gawain had his words out, as it was, Galahad just stared at him.

“You’re not.” He says quite plainly.

Gawain stares back. “How would you know? You’ve never been in love.”

“Neither have you,” he points out succinctly.

Gawain shrugs, “I just, well.”

“You’ll get over it Gawain. You always do.” Galahad gets up and pats him on the shoulder. “I’m going to bed. Don’t get too drunk.”

Gawain stays where he is, staring at the pitcher of ale in front of him.

 

He has the same conversation with Galahad a few more times over the month. Always when Arthur had retired to bed and Bors had been called away by Vanora. Bors knows though, Galahad told him one night when they were both horrendously drunk, but they both remember. He won’t say anything though, although he watches Gawain closely when they’re in the presence of their Queen. If Arthur knows he doesn’t show it, and if Guinevere has noticed, which is a strong possibility since she seems to notice everything, she’s not calling him out on it.

 

Midsummer comes with the usual routine of formal meetings and banquets. One such occasion finds Galahad and Gawain sat on one side of Arthur and Guinevere, and Bors on the other while Romans and British land owners fill the rest of the room.

Unfortunately, Gawain has been placed in what would have been Lancelot’s seat had he survived, as Arthur’s second and the Queen’s protector and Galahad watches with an anxious eye as Gawain darts surreptitious glances at her every few moments.

She meets his glance as the final pleasantries are being exchanged, cool as ice, and she smiles, just a quick quirk of the lips but her eyes speak volumes. She knows. Gawain ducks his head and turns to Galahad; desperately making idle conversation that leaves the younger man rolling his eyes.

When Gawain finally turns back round she’s talking to one of the Woad ambassadors, smiling and joking. She laughs loudly, and makes grand hand gestures; possibly she’s drunk, but her hand catches Gawain a few too many times for it to be accidental and he pales. When it doesn’t stop, he stands and excuses himself, hurrying to the stables, losing himself in the simple actions of checking his horse over, saddling the beast and riding out of the fort at full pelt.

 

Galahad’s waiting in the stables when he returns, several hours later. It’s dark and there’s little noise left coming from the hall, or even the tavern. Gawain looks at Galahad briefly then starts to unsaddle his horse, rubbing it down and not saying a word until he’s done.

“She knows.” He finally says in a monotone, leaning against the stable wall.

Galahad sighs and rolls his eyes; he’s doing that a lot these days and he’s not too happy about it. “You’re not exactly subtle when you’re staring at her every few moments.”

Gawain closes his eyes for a moment. “So what do I do? If she tells Arthur then I could be accused of treason, adultery…” he leaves the longer list of accusations hanging in the air, and Galahad reaches over and pats him on the shoulder.

“But she hasn’t said anything so far, so the chances are, she probably won’t. Or maybe she has and Arthur just doesn’t care. There’s something wrong with them anyway.”

“And so it’ll be my fault. Thank you Galahad, that’s just what I needed to hear.” Gawain knocks his head against the stable wall. “Maybe I should just go away for a while.”

Galahad just shakes his head and starts to walk off. “That’s right Gawain. Run away from your problems as usual. It won’t look suspicious at all.” His voice carries on ranting as he rounds the corner and out of sight, and Gawain throws a few choice curses at him before following.

 

No one says anything about the evening after that. Gawain breathes a sigh of relief and goes on with his life. Galahad keeps an eye on him but he’s an adult and Galahad can’t always be there for him, and besides, Gawain was supposed to be the stable, mature one, not him.

In the middle of July and Guinevere asks the two of them to escort her on a hunt. She doesn’t need the escort, especially not them, there are her own people who would go with her willingly, but, she explains to Galahad as Gawain saddles his horse and tries not to have a panic attack, Arthur has asked her to make an effort to know them, rather than just live alongside them, and she’s willing to acquiesce to that. Galahad nods and smiles and makes sure he has enough arrows, and that she knows where they’re going.

They stop come evening near a small stream and make a rough camp. They’re all covered in sweat and blood, and Gawain badly wants to strip out of the dirty leathers.  
Galahad starts a fire, guts a couple of rabbits they’d caught and starts them cooking over it.

Guinevere eventually does excuse herself to go and clean the worst of the blood from her, and Gawain tries his best not to think of that fact that she’s just downstream, probably naked. He starts fidgeting and Galahad glares at him, shoving another rabbit at him to skin and gut. They probably won’t eat it, but it gives Gawain something to focus on, and the cold meat will do for the next day’s meal.

On her return, the three of them eat and Galahad and Guinevere making small talk while Gawain does his best to rival one of Galahad’s sulks. When they finish, Guinevere smiles, “While don’t you go and clean up Galahad?” She says politely, and Galahad nods, already starting to strip off his outer leathers. Gawain makes to stand and do the same, but Guinevere places a steady hand on his arm. “Does he always need a shadow? I thought we should get to know each other better, since Arthur seems to have made you my champion.” She smiles again, and it’s disarming, disturbing even. The kind smile of a predator and Gawain is reminded that she’s probably killed as many as he has. He sits back down and turns towards her.

“It would be my pleasure.” He says with a tight voice.

Guinevere talks easily of her childhood, her distaste at having to be civil to so many of the remaining Romans and her opinions on weapons. Simple things that Gawain can nod along to, add his own comments when he’s sure his voice won’t squeak like a beardless boy. Then she starts asking if he has plans to leave, plans to settle down somewhere. Plans to marry. There was something in the way that she looked at him as she asked that made him nervous, tied his tongue completely. He muttered a few words and then got up and bolted, without excusing himself. She could have him executed for rudeness later if she wanted.

 

Galahad is lounging on the river bank, stark naked, when Gawain finally finds him.

“You know, there are still unfriendly bunches of Woads out here, and you’re a prime bloody target right now.” Gawain grumps at him as Galahad scrambles to grab his shirt.  
Galahad pulls the shirt back over his head and checks his trousers, they’re still too damp to wear so he shrugs and leaves them over the branch. “I take it one of them might be back at the camp?”

Gawain sits down heavily next to Galahad. “She asked if I had plans to marry! What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Something pointless that distracts her to another conversation you idiot.”

Gawain lies back, silent for a while, then sighs dramatically, “I’m doomed Galahad. I really think I’m in love with her.”

“They you’d best be out of love with her soon. Or do something about it.” Galahad rolls his eyes again, even though Gawain isn’t actually looking at him. “I’m going to sleep here, wake me up if you go back to the camp.”

“How d’you know I’m not going back now?” Gawain asks as Galahad folds an arm over his eyes to block out the early evening sun.

“Because you’re avoiding Guinevere, who is back at the camp, and while you could go wandering aimlessly, even when you’re miserable, you’re not that stupid. Now please, would you clean the entrails off yourself, you stink.”

Gawain skulks down to the water, stripping as he goes, and does his best to forget that Guinevere is still sitting at the camp fire as he washes himself and his clothes, then returns to find Galahad snoring. Shrugging into his shirt, he joins the other man and sleeps on the bank for the night.

None of them say anything about it when it comes to dismantling the camp the next morning.

 

In the end it is she who goes to him. He makes a noise of protest as she pushes him back into his room, shushes him when he stutters out ‘Arthur…’ in a questioning tone. It’s not romantic or sensual; it’s the coming together of two people who shouldn’t be there. She strips off her own shirt and trousers; she still dresses as a warrior more often than not and then pushes his own hands out the way as he tries to undress himself and strips him, shoves him to the bed and kisses him, hard and unrelenting.

Nothing about her is soft, barely even feminine; the way she rides him, her thighs tight either side of his, the angles of her hips in his hands as he tries to slow her down.

She shakes her head and moans, the first real sound she’s made since she entered the room, and he echoes it. He takes a deep breath, as deep as he can, and pulls her harder onto him, she growls and grinds down. When she rises back up he gets his hand between her legs; it’s an awkward angle but the sounds she makes when he rubs against her clit are worth it. She bucks and tightens against him, and he’s finding it harder and harder not to come. She keeps moving and he keeps his hand where it is, even though his arm is starting to feel like its dead and eventually she comes, her body freezing as he feels her tighten round his cock but she keeps moving until he arches ever so slightly into his own orgasm.

She stays where she is, arms braced on his chest for a few moments, catching her breath with her eyes closed. Gawain looks at her and sees the pieces that make the Queen slowly falling back into place. He lets his head roll back, not having the words to say or the energy to say them; he knows, has known from the minute she walked in, that she won’t stay.

 

Two months down the line when Arthur and Guinevere announce her pregnancy, Gawain wants to die. Of course, the baby could be Arthur’s, but she’s not showing yet, and could just as easily be his. Galahad pats him on the shoulder and passes him a drink.

“Well, we’ll just have to wait until the baby’s born won’t we?” is all he says on the matter and Gawain just nods.


End file.
